


Autumn Leaves

by Wash Parry (Wash_Parry)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wash_Parry/pseuds/Wash%20Parry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, pointing at a leaf floating in mid-air, I told you I liked seeing autumn leaves dance. You raised an eyebrow, in that pretentious, derisive way that you always did, and then you told me that autumn leaves didn’t dance. They only fell.  Anders/Red!Hawke. Post-DA2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Leaves

###  **One**

Once, pointing at a leaf floating in mid-air, I told you I liked seeing autumn leaves dance. You raised an eyebrow, in that pretentious, derisive way that you always did, and then you told me that autumn leaves didn’t dance. They only fell. 

You had an almost magical ability to make me instantly frustrated, did you know? You were always so eager to dismiss me, and I was always so proud. I was very proud, you knew that, and sometimes you vexed me so much that I spent all my time trying to think of ways to change your mind. 

I told you to stop being a cynic – a little figure of speech, a little poetry never hurt anyone. And you sneered, as if I’d said something outrageous. 

_I, a cynic? I see the world as it is and here I still am, fighting for it. Pray tell, where will you be in a world without poetry and manifestos?_

You were mocking me, and, believe me, I was very much tempted to take the bait. I couldn’t understand you sometimes. In a different time and a different place, we would never have been able to see eye-to-eye. Perhaps we would’ve hated each other. 

But it was no use talking in hypotheticals – on that we both agreed. At the end of the day, we were stuck with each other, and we were all we had. 

And so I didn’t answer, only grabbed you by the hand. It was a little surprising how little force it required to drag you out of your seat. I’d like to think that finally, _finally_ , I managed to brush away that chip on your shoulder. But perhaps you just wanted to humour me, like an adult would a stubborn child. 

I led you into the middle of the clearing. You should’ve seen the look on your face when I didn’t let go of your hand. I chuckled, told you to shut up and wait. I held your hand a little tighter, raised it a little higher. The dawn was finally breaking now, the sun beginning to rise from its slumber. 

You looked at me, eyes wide and confused but always, always just so patient. I told you to listen. Only a few more minutes now. 

I never got the chance to explain, I think. Did you know that I went here often whenever I ran from the circle? The town was just close enough that it was easy to get resources at night, and the surrounding forest was just thick and vast enough that no half-assed Templar bothered to come this way. Whenever someone did, they just left immediately, frustrated. It was an old Orlesian settlement, I think – a little village forgotten by time. If the language barrier wasn’t enough to deter the authorities from investigating any further, the reclusiveness of the villagers did the work. 

It was the perfect hideout, but it wasn’t why I wanted to bring you here. 

I would have told you all of this then, confused as you were, but I figured that you were right. Sometimes, words were simply unnecessary. Useless, even, to a degree. And so I told you to wait. 

The sun peeked over the horizon, and finally it began: the revered mother, the brothers and the sisters, going around the little village that was fast asleep, all singing an old Orlesian tune, all singing in perfect unison, as if their solemn voices could singlehandedly drive evil spirits away, and lift the sun up in the sky. 

_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens … Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche …_

_This is a little creepy,_ you whispered, deadpan. I rolled my eyes. 

Oh, just shut up and wait, Hawke. 

The nearby village roused from its sleep, as if on cue, as if the soft, faint hymn had told the people to get up, to smile. The night had gone. Another day had passed. They were still here, still breathing. 

As they sang, the chantry bells began to ring. At the sound, the birds awoke from their slumber. Out they rustled from their nests, and the trees trembled in response. I looked up. I could see a hundred shades of red leaves whirring, humming to my old Orlesian hymn. The trees looked like they were on fire; the birds circling overhead looked like smoke rising. We were ablaze, but we did not burn, and around us tiny leaflets like tongues of flame twirled and swayed. 

I could feel your hand squeezing mine. 

_Voila le portrait sans retouches … De l'homme auquel j'appartiens …_

For a millisecond, I looked at your face, and I think I caught just the tiniest hint of a smile. I swore to myself that someday I would make you laugh – oh, yes, I would have you in hysterics. Just you watch. 

_Quand il me prend dans ses bras … Il me parle tout bas …_

I took you in my arms, as the song went, though there was no real need to say anything. 

_Je vois la vie en rose._

And like autumn leaves, we danced. 

###  **Two**

They found us. 

They caught us off-guard late in the night, while we were fast asleep. I suppose we had got too used to the idea that people like us could afford to forever just wake up to mindless chantry singing. 

And for our mistake, we stood beside each other, frozen. I told you to run. Told you that I could try to hold off the templars while you made a run for it. You raised an eyebrow, in that pretentious, derisive way that you always did, as if I'd said something truly outrageous. 

Just once I wish you'd take me seriously. 

You held my hand, but we didn't, _couldn't_ dance this time. 

To my surprise, I didn’t care, _couldn’t_ care. 

I could see the sun rising, and right on schedule, the singing of the people soon followed. The ringing of the bell resonated everywhere, a wake-up call to people who had still yet to wake up. 

Because an old song was never, and would never be, enough to wake them up, was it? They would get up from their beds. They would make breakfast, and drink their tea, and they would go out, and they would talk and work and live and breathe, but they would never wake up. 

_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens …_

I wish I could have given you a proper, normal life. One where we could go and have breakfast, and drink tea, and go out, and talk and work and live and breathe. One where we didn’t have to hide. Alas, our world would not permit it, and so we tried to fight for a world that would. 

I wanted the world to build a statue after you. I wanted people to whisper your name on their lips, as if you were a dark secret that simply wouldn’t, and couldn’t die. I wanted them to use you as their battle cry, your name resounding like a symphony in the wind as they trampled the giants and burned down their houses. I wanted them to sing hymns in your honour, to write poems that I couldn’t because I had run out of time. I didn’t want you to remain a secret. 

I was desperate for the world to remember, for the world to realise, that at one point it was lucky enough to have you. 

_Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche …_

But you were right. You’re always right. I suppose we were always meant to leave this place without a trace – unnamed insurgents, terrorists who simply ceased to be. Do you think that ten years, a hundred years, from now, history books would stop to mention what the Champion of Kirkwall’s name was? 

Well, I would not be able to stick around long enough to find out, I suppose. Our time had run out. Pity. I had yet to make you laugh. 

_Voila le portrait sans retouches_

I heard the Templar-lieutenant shout something to his men – whatever he meant to say, I did not care. I merely observed as the man above me raised his blade with military precision. I did not care. I felt like a spectator, a disinterested audience in my own execution. 

I did not care. 

_De l'homme auquel j'appartiens …_

I tried to shout your name – one last desperate plea for the world to remember – but no sound would come out. At last, I understood; we lived in a world without poetry. 

_Il me parle tout bas …_

I tried to shout your name, but I hadn’t the heart to let out a final battle cry, so I decided to just look at you one last time before I closed my eyes. 

_Je vois la vie en rose._

I heard the Templar-lieutenant shout something to his men – whatever he meant to say, I did not care. 

And like autumn leaves, we fell. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know why the Orlesians are singing Edith Piaf's song.  
> Song used is "La vie en rose"


End file.
